NotTim's Christmas: Dispencin' A Present
by LightningsShadow118
Summary: Christmas comes around, and the shyest Spy must find the perfect present for his love, Engineer.  DISCLAIMER: NotTim the ShySpy is not my character
1. The Tree

There was always a week-long period of ceasefire called during the holidays so that everyone could celebrate as they saw fit. Christmas was certainly no exception.

One might have found it odd to see so much happiness and joy spread throughout a war base usually fraught with explosions, gunpowder, and raw carnage. These men wore the firm skins of brutish mercenaries, and yet when that one magical time of year came by, that roughness melted away into something more accepting; more kind.

In the center of the Rec Room, sofas and game tables had been pushed aside to make room for the towering, robust Tree. It had been harvested and mounted just that day, and already it was almost fully clothed for Christmas. Little candy canes and ornaments hung from ever other branch, held high like trophies. Even if the candy canes were the same ones used for the Tree every year, they were still beautiful against the green.

All that remained was the final touch.

"Don't—DON'T... fuckin', drop me, dude, I almost had it!" Scout shouted, one foot on Demoman's shoulder, the other daintily bent up behind him (Scout didn't realize he was doing it), and one arm painfully stretching to slip the star on top. It was nearly there, too, but Scout couldn't seem to stretch that last little inch in fear he might send everything tumbling down.

Everyone was there, standing back and watching the precarious ritual unfold. Most of them wanted to help, but Scout had called the star and barked at anyone who tried touching it because he'd fuckin' called it, so he got to put up. And _far be it_ from the rest of the team to stop Scout from calling the shots.

"Ah said, lad, Ah goot yeh fine. Have a li'le fehth, why doncha?"

"With _your_ sense of balance? Yeah, right!"

"Jus' ge' tha' bloodeh star up."

"I'm tryin', jus' hold on...!"

In the corner of the room, cloaked and hidden, was NotTim.

He watched the spectacle with avid but worried eyes. Scout wasn't going to get the star on without taking all the team's hard work to the ground in a crashing heap. And what were they thinking, letting Demoman be Scout's support? Demoman's balance and care was even worse than Scout's! NotTim nibbled his lip, too anxious to watch and yet too concerned about his friend's safety to look away.

Ah, there, the gilded star slid onto the top like a glove over a hand, proud and perfectly erect.

"Got it!" Scout slunk back, full weight squarely on Demoman's shoulders, then hopped back to solid ground. A few of his teammates cheered; it _was_ a rather impressive balancing act, and the Tree's decoration was finally complete.

Oh, good, thought Spy. They were okay. Scout was firmly on the ground, and the Tree was still up. Good, good, good.

They all stepped back, then, and viewed the Tree from tip to toe, silently admiring their handiwork. (Except for NotTim; he hadn't dared to help out. Not that he hadn't wanted to, because it looked kind of fun and Engineer looked like he was really happy, but _everyone_ was there and everyone was _talking_ and _laughing_ and they'd want _him_ to talk, too, and then he'd choke up and stutter like an idiot or he'd break one of their pretty candy canes and then they'd get _angry_ at him and– no, no, no, oh no. Just... no.)

"Star is _very_ pretty," Heavy boomed proudly. A few of the others nodded. Everyone was smiling, and Soldier was pulling a grimace that _kind of_ resembled a smirk, so it counted.

Sniper claped his hands together. "Now, on to sweets!"

Exuberance filled the air. Everyone filed out for the kitchen, eager to sample Pyro's Flaming Sugar Stars and Sniper's home-recipe Gingerbread Boomerangs ("I'd be _more_ than happy to make 'em yer good ol' American Gingerbread _Men,_ Digger, but we ain't got no bloody cookie-cutters, so I'm makin' due. They'll taste the same anyway."), except for NotTim and Engineer, who was still admiring the Tree fondly.

The Texan waited until everyone was in the kitchen, well out of earshot.

"Beauty, ain't she?" He spoke, knowing NotTim was listening. "Doc gave us that star our first Christmas. Never told us where he got it from, but we stopped askin' eventually. I remember, our first Christmas, seein' ol' Heavy hoist him up onto his shoulders to get Doc closer to the treetop."

Engineer chuckled. "Scared the Doc somethin' fierce, I tell ya! He'd asked for a hand, but I doubt he expected anthin' like that. He got it up all the same though, an' by God, it was just lovely."

He glanced back into the seemingly-empty corner. "Don't tell Doc I told'ja, though. I'd get one helluvan earful if he knew."

No reply.

Engineer smiled. "Oh, and Spook? If'n you were wonderin', stale candy canes're just as good'n sweet as fresh ones. An' there's so many up here, I doubt any of the others would notice if one or two went missin'."

Silence...

And then NotTim lifted his cloak.

"There's my li'l Spook," Engineer smiled.

Spy glued his eyes to Engie's shoes, hands wedged behind his back, but he smiled. Slowly, timidly, he shuffled up next to Engineer.

"You like candy canes? I love 'em. They go nicely with a couple gingersnaps an' a little hot cocoa. Here, I'll split one'a these with ya, if ya like."

Engineer plucked one vibrantly striped cane, and offered it to him. Spy tittered and politely shook his head (even though, deep down, he _really_ wanted a candy cane, he _loved_ candy canes, even old ones, but... he– they– he couldn't take these, they belonged to the team. They _weren't his_ to eat.)

Engineer noticed how his eyes dilated when he saw the candy cane. Poor Spy definitely wanted it.

"What if I let you have some as my little treat?"

NotTim's eyes lit. A treat? Engineer was giving him a treat? Well, when he put it _that_ way... NotTim supposed treats were okay.

Engineer snapped the candy cane in two. "Would you prefer the straight end, or the bent end?"

NotTim's eyes flicked between the two halves, and he hesisated. "... E-either."

Engie smiled again, friendly and warm, and gave him the straight end.

Spy took it, pulled the wrapping off, and popped the broken end into his mouth. A wave of sweet, cool, pepperminty goodness filled his taste buds, and it tasted so delicious that Spy sighed in sweet bliss. Candy canes were... little sticks of heaven you could hang on trees.

Engineer slipped an arm around NotTim's shoulder, slowly, gently, so as not to startle him. Spy tensed for a moment but relaxed just as soon. It was only Engie. Engie was safe.

He let himself scoot closer until their shoulders touched, and he hesitantly let his head rest in the nape of Engie's neck. Engie let him, and that meant the world to Spy.

"Spook?"

Spy looked up.

"Merry Christmas."

Spy felt his heart flutter. He loved Engineer. He loved him so much that it almost hurt his heart. But Engineer would never hurt his heart. Engineer wouldn't let anyone hurt him. Engineer was the best person in the world.

"... Merry Christmas... Engineer..."


	2. Pyro's Sugar Stars

NotTim paced back and forth furiously in his (not his) room. His candy cane had long since been sucked away, and even though he _wanted_ to go get another, he couldn't. He couldn't have candy canes unless Engineer _said_ he could.

And even so, candy canes look better when they're hanging on the Tree than they look sticking out of his mouth.

So Spy paced around with two cigarettes in his lips, eyes on the ground before him and arms hugging his stomach so tight that he was starting to feel a little sick from the pressure. (Well, that and he hadn't gotten any breakfast. Too loud that morning. Too risky. Someone would've _seen_ him in there.) He was trying to keep himself calm and under control so he could think, but the cold and the ever-present bout of fear that welled up in him at times like these were making things very difficult.

Engineer had put his arm around his shoulder. He'd done it slowly, gently, so cautious, so careful not to scare him. His arm had been big, strong, a little heavy, and oh, goodness, it had been _so warm._ It had felt so _nice_ on his neck and shoulders, so _cozy_ and _safe,_ and oh, it was so very, very good, and he'd almost wanted to _hug_ Engineer!

But he couldn't; there was no way to _escape_ hugs. You were clamped between two massive arms that kept you from going anywhere and you couldn't get _out._ But, if Engineer's _arm_ had felt that nice... Spy couldn't even imagine how good it would feel to _hug_ Engineer.

Spy sighed happily at the thought. His pace quickened around his (_not his_) room. He wondered, briefly, if being so close to Engineer was worth the risk of an inescapable embrace, but the thought instantly vanished, replaced with the one life-saving mantra of Spies everywhere:

_Always have an escape plan. ALWAYS have an escape plan._

No matter what the payoff of a risk may be, a Spy must always have the power to flee the scene on a dime.

NotTim frowned in dismay and sucked harder on his cigarettes. It wasn't a pleasant thing, smoking, but without it, God only knew what kind of a sorry wreck he'd be. It was a wonder he hadn't developed ulcers by now.

Spy whipped his thoughts back to the task at hand; to Engineer. Christmas would be here in a few days, and after all that Engineer had done for him, Spy felt obligated to give him something. The only problem was what that gift would be. What could he possibly give Engineer that he would like and didn't already have? And it couldn't be something from a store; that was lazy and unoriginal, and Engineer deserved so much better than a store gift. Engineer deserved something special; something unique.

What was something that NotTim and only NotTim could make?

_Mistakes_ was the first word that came to mind. He tensed; an instinctive reaction, but then he stood straight and shook his head.

"N-not... not g-gonna g-g-go there..."

He just needed to _think._ Think of all the things Engineer has talked about. What sort of things did he ever mention—

_"You like candy canes? I love 'em. They go nicely with a couple gingersnaps an' a little hot cocoa..."_

–really liking?

Gingersnaps and hot cocoa.

Oh, but... NotTim didn't know how to cook! What was he supposed to do now! And even if he _could_ cook... the... the _kitchen..._ wasn't... _his...!_

_Pyro cooks._

But– But– He– He couldn't ask for help! Pyro would never teach him how to cook! Why would Pyro bother helping NotTim when Pyro knew Spy would just wind up spilling ingredients everywhere and messing up as always?

_Pyro's your friend._

But... he still couldn't ask for such a big favor like that. It was Rude.

_Scout is your friend, too._

But Scout can't cook, can he? And even if he could, Scout wouldn't. He's got his own gifts to give. He can't waste his time helping Spy.

_This is for Engineer._

...

NotTim stopped pacing.

...

_"... Yer a great Spy, son..."_

Well, that was it, then.

A wave of energy swept over him, starting in his chest and spreading throughout his whole body. His heart pumped harder, driven by something that, for once, wasn't fear.

This was Engineer he was talking about. Engineer had saved him from getting killed by his old teammates when he didn't have to. Engineer let Spy sleep in his room sometimes, and Engineer talked to him, too. Engineer had done so many things for Spy out of sheer kindness, and Spy owed it to Engie to be Brave and give him the best gift ever. Even if it meant talking, and-and getting laughed at, and... and being called 'stupid'... NotTim would do it! NotTim _had_ to do it! For Engie!

He looked up at the door shut tight in front of him. He was usually afraid to open doors, but if Engineer was waiting for him on the other side, then by-golly, NotTim had to open that door!

Spy took two steps forward, grasped the handle so tight that the bones in his fingers creaked, and he jerked the door open.

But it didn't budge.

He pulled again. It still didn't open.

Spy blinked. Then he realized the problem and squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation.

He turned the handle, and _then_ jerked the door open.

I*~*I—I*~*I

NotTim stood in the corner of the now emptied kitchen, watching Pyro put all the leftover cookies in a plastic container to store in the fridge, wondering exactly what the heck had possessed him. This was a bad idea, and it probably wasn't going to work. He'd have to _talk._

Pyro shut the fridge door, then looked right at Spy and waved. "Rr! Hrr thrr, Sphrrk! Drrd yrr wrrnt srrm crrkrrs?"

Spy tensed. _Run, run, RUN!_

Pyro motioned for him to come sit down. Spy didn't want to... but, if Pyro had already seen him and wan't kicking him out, then he supposed there was no real reason _not_ to stay... especially if there were...

NotTim had a seat at the empty table. Pyro opened the containers and daintily retrieved two Flaming Sugar Stars and one Gingerbread Boomerang, (Pyro kind of stuck his pinkies out when he handled food, Spy noticed) placed them gently on a plate and served it to him.

"O-oh no, I-I c-c-couldn't—"

"Yrrs, yrr crrrd, Sphrrk! R knrr hrr mrrch yrr lrrv swrrts. Grr rrn, trry thrrm!"

Oh, he shouldn't, but he really _did_ want to. Delicately picking up a yellow and orange colored Sugar Star, Spy took a small bite of one point, felt the grainy sugar on his tongue, rolled it around in his mouth, and let it dissolve.

Then, eyes practically shining, he bit off the entire spike.

Pyro laughed. "Srr? R knrr yrr'd lrrk thrrm."

Spy slowly worked the delicious sweetness around in his mouth and swallowed the syrupy goo it left behind. "I-I-It's so... the-they're s-so...!"

"Swrrt? Mmm-Hmm! Swrrtrrst crrkrrs rrvrr! Scrrt hrrd frrv hf thrrm rrlirr. R trrld hrrm thrrgh, 'Drrn't rrt hll hf thrrm, rr thrr wrrn't brr rrny lrrft frr Sphrrk!' R mrrd thrrm frr yrr, yrr knrr."

NotTim's chest tightened, eyes wide. "F-f-f-for... me?"

"Yrrp! Wrrll, R hrrd yrr rrn mrrnd whrrn R mrrd thrrm. Nrr hn lrrvs shrrgrr lrrk yrr, hrftrr hll."

Spy looked at the Star in his hand, then back at Pyro. Despite every fiber in his being telling him not to cry, he couldn't stop himself. _Pyro made me cookies... Pyro made me [b]__**sugar**__[/b] cookies... and here I am asking him to help me make a present for Engineer and not him... and I didn't even show up at the table when he served them — for [b]__**me![**__/b] Oh no, no, no! I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't, I can't, I can't..._

"... Sphrrk, Sphrrk, rrt's rrkrry! Rrt's rrkrry! Drrn't wrry, R _wrrntrrd_ trr mrrk thrrm! Thrr _yrrs!_ Jrrst frr yrr!"

Spy hadn't even realized he'd started crying his eyes out. Pyro was sitting next to him now, one rubber hand on his back, rubbing slowly, soothingly. Apparently he'd been babbling a little as well. Oh god, he hadn't said too much, had he?

"Rrt's rrkrry, Sphrrk, rrt's rrkrry. Rrvrrthrrng's rrkrry."

How was he supposed to ask Pyro for help now? Spy didn't have _one thing_ to give Pyro in return, and on top of that, he'd just burst into tears like a big fat baby. Pyro was going to be sad when he asked. Pyro probably already wanted him gone after he'd just cried all over the place.

His hands were shaking like mad, but NotTim somehow managed to reach into an inner pocket and pull out his personal notebook and pencil. He opened to a new page, with difficulty, and began scribbling down everything he wanted to say but knew he couldn't. He didn't know what else to do, but he had to do _something._

Pyro watched the words appear as Spy wrote with one hand and held the Sugar Star in his mouth with the other, mostly to stifle his bawling.

"Rr, Sphrrk! Sphrrk, Sphrrk, yrr drrn't hrrv trr grrv _mrr_ rrnythrrng! Yrr drrn't hrrv trr grrv mrr rrnythrrng ht hll! Rrt's Chrrstmrrs! Rr, Sphrrk, Sphrrk!"

Spy was sucking on the Star like mad, and it was probably already half goo in his mouth, but all the salty tears were making it hard to tell. He ought to run away, he thought, he really ought to just go away and leave Pyro alone because nobody ever wanted him around after this kind of breakdown, but... he couldn't. He just... couldn't find the gall to run away from his friend after being given such a gracious gift. And he had absolutely no clue why. Normally he'd be out of there faster than thought.

"Thrry'rr jrrst crrkrrs, Sphrrk. Rrt's rrkrry. Rrt's rr-rrkrr-rry."

Eventually, after much of Pyro's coaxing, Spy found himself calming down.

He had to wonder why, too. He would usually pour his soul out through his eyes for hours before calming down if Engineer wasn't there with him. He ate more of the Sugar Star, and suddenly found that he felt... better. A lot better, actually. Wow. It was weird. He... actually hadn't cried like that in a while. He was still tense, but he'd forgotten how good it felt to just let everything _out._

"Rrh, thrr wrr grr, hll brrtrr nrrw?"

Spy sniffed. That was really weird. He took another bite, and the sugar was even more sweet now than before, and it was just so unbelievably _delicious_ that Spy didn't want to think about anything else.

"A-are... y-you sure you...?"

"Rr'm prrsrrtrrv. Drrn't yrr wrry hrrbrrt mrr. R mrrk crrkrrs frr rrvrryrrn hn Chrrstmrrs."

Spy half-listened and nodded. He slipped the last of the first Sugar Star into his mouth and sighed as he grabbed the second one. Ooh, so _very_ good. Great, even. NotTim felt great, and all warm and fuzzy inside.

Since his mouth was full, and talking when your mouth is full is Rude, Spy went to write his question for Pyro in his notebook. He didn't even think about it; his hand just... started writing. But Spy didn't mind too much; it was easier to do this than it was to talk anyway.

It was a bit difficult to hold the pencil for some reason, but he got the entire message down nonetheless. Once Spy finished writing, he fumbled with his pencil before just giving up and letting it drop. He lazily brought the second Star up to his lips. Pyro didn't seem to notice his odd behavior and clapped his hands together in utter joy.

"Hrrt Chrrclrrt rrnd grrngrr snrrps? Frr Rrngrrnrr! Rr grrdy! Rr'd _lrrv_ th hrrlp yrr mrrk Rrngrrnrr srrm trrhts! Rrnd R knrr thrr prrfrrct rrcrrprr, trr!"

Pyro dashed back to find the recipe book cabinet. NotTim just sat still, nice and quiet. And tired. Why did he feel tired? And when had his cheeks started burning up? Come to think of it, his entire face felt a little hot. Very, very odd. And yet he couldn't recall ever feeling so calm before. Spy took another bite from his Sugar Star. Not even curling up with Engineer had made him feel so rela—

Spy froze. Somewhere in his brain, the pieces fell into place. He stopped mushing his bite around. His eyes locked on the Sugar Star in his hand.

"Uh, P-P-Pyro...?"

"Yrrs, Sphrrk?""

"U-um... uh... _F-Flaming_ Sugar St-St-Stars...?"

"Rr, wrrll, yrr knrrw," Pyro made a vague gesture with his hand as he extracted a big, blue book. "Thrr frrd crrlrr rrnd hll... R mrrn, thrry lrrk lrrk thrry'rr hn fyrr, drrn't thrry?"

"Er..."

Spy felt a wave of something warm pulse though his stomach. It felt like there was a beach inside of him, and every wave that washed up filled him with warmth. It wasn't entirely pleasant.

"Rr! Hrr's thrrs prrsky rrcrrprrs! Hrr yrr gh, Sphrrk!"

Pyro placed on the table a pair of notecards with ingredients, supplies, and instructions scribbled on them. One was labeled "Lucy's Ginger Snaps," and the other "Hot Chocolate with Nutmeg".

"U-u-uh..."

"Krrp thrrm hs lrrng hs yrr nrrd thrrm, rrnd lrrt mrr knrrw rrf yrr nrrd rrny hrrlp wrrth rrnrrthrrng!"

Spy blinked through the haze of tired that swept him up, fumbled for his notebook and his pencil that had rolled onto the floor, and tried to slip them back into his inner coat pocket. He was sweating hard under his balaclava, and he knew it.

"Th-th-thanks..." he murmured quickly, and cloaked to make a hasty getaway. NotTim was out of that kitchen and down the hall in a jiff.

Pyro tilted his head.

A few moments later, sourceless steps approached the table again, slow and embarrassed, and the notecards vanished into an invisible hand.

Pyro was glad that Spy would never see his huge smile.


	3. Scout's Words of Wisdom

NotTim trudged through the hallways, the two recipes held tight in his fingers. He felt like he was about to drop, right there in the middle of the hallway. No one would see him with his cloak on, but he _couldn't._ He had to get the next part of his gift before there could be any sleeping.

Spy grunted and stumbled, falling against the cold, concrete wall, face smeared up against the stoney grain. He was _so exhausted._

A faint humming drifted down the hallway to Spy's ears, prompting him to lazily look up. Spy vaguely recognized it as Scout's voice.

_Scout's a friend. Scout can help you. He'll listen, he'll talk._

Desperately, Spy summoned every bit of strength in his being and focused it all on making his legs carry him. His face lightly dragged across the wall, but he couldn't find enough strength to care. When, after an eternity of work, he'd finally made it to Scout's room down the hall, he saw that the door was wide open. Spy slowly peeked his head in.

Scout was lying back on his bed, tossing his baseball at the ceiling. Sometimes he caught it, sometimes it landed on the bed, sometimes it smacked him in the face. He was singing some song to no one, and his words were slurred – was he tired too?

"... Th' shark'd struck, an' d_i-i-i-i_ssap_e-e-e_ared, so'ee gen'ly put'rr _o-o-o_n th' s_a-a-a-a_nd, woo-oo-oo, an' as he... wait... uh... no, no... no... th' shark had struck an' d_i-i-i-i_ssap_e-e-e_ared, an' left'is sweetheart d_e-e-e_ad, woo-oo-oo, yeah... an' as he pulled'er _to-o-o_ the sh_o-o-o_re, the r_o-o-a-a_ring w_a-a-a_ves w're _re-e-ed...!_

"Oh, th' wat'r wus _RE-E-E-e-e-ed,_" Scout threw his head back and wailed, eyes shut tight in tragic, inebriated passion. "Fr'm whut th' _sha-a-ark'd_ done! Woo-oo-oo, woo-oo-oo, oh th' wat'r wus _RE-E-E-e-e-ed,_ an'is _lu-u-uve_ was g_o-o-o_ne! Woo-oo-oo, woo-ooOOOLY SHIT HOOSARE!"

NotTim jumped back behind the door, a bit more awake now. He must've made a noise without realizing it, goddamn it. Today was not his day.

"I SAID HOOSARE! YOU TRYNA', uh, STEAL SOM'N... 'r SOM'N! CUZ YEH GONNA, like, GETA BUNCHA MY BALLS TA Y'FACE, 'r whatev'r... if y'are..."

"... I-It's... I-I-It's m-me..."

Scout's face dropped, his entire aggressive demeanor flipped on a dime. "Oh... shit... _Spook,_ uh... fuck man, sorry 'bout dat... Jesus, y'scared th' hell outta me."

Scout's slurr wasn't gone, but Spy peeked around the corner anyway. Scout had dropped his cocked baseball arm and looked genuinely apologetic (as genuine as one can look in such an off-kilter state of mind). He was also looking past NotTim, trying to crane his neck to see out the door.

"S'where d'hell are ya?"

Spy lifted his cloak. Scout blinked and recoiled, though the reaction was late, and he smiled.

"Oh, dang, there you are. Man, sorry dude, seriously, I jus' kinna... yeah," He then gestured to Spy. "W'll, c'mon in, wussup?"

Spy hesitated, as if expecting a baseball to hit him the moment he set foot inside anyway. But Scout didn't look centered enough to lie about anything, really, so he cautiously entered and stood against the wall with his hands behind his back.

Scout looked like he was about to to resume his ball toss, but decided not to and just turned it over in his hands a couple times. He glanced over at his company, eyes droopy and red.

"Everyth'n cool, Spook? Y'look all... like..." Scout furrowed his brows in thought. "Spook'd, 'n junk... heh, heheheh... so, wussup, man?"

Spy bit his lip and extracted his notebook, while also tucking the notecards safely away. This little ritual took twice as long as it should've, simply because Spy couldn't seem to get a solid hold on the binding. But he did manage it and, once he scribbled his question down, presented Scout with the page.

Scout didn't take the book but looked at it with his brows knit tight. NotTim blinked, checked to see if he'd turned to the right page, and he had. Scout looked like he was trying to decode something written in Latin. Or Braille. Or 5-year-old scribbles.

"Dissss... pen-sasha-elll? Whassa... disss-pen-sasha-elll—OH OH A DIS_PEN_SA' _SHELL_—"

"SSSSH!" NotTim hissed and checked the hallway frantically for anyone who might've heard.

"Whoa, Jee-sus, man! What the hell?"

Spy stared at Scout, horrified. "D-D-Don't... _yell_ it...!"

Scout's expression changed, and the transition didn't look natural. "O-o-oh, oh, oh, oh, it's-a, like-a... secret, an' junk, right? Right, my bad, man, my bad."

NotTim simpered helplessly. Scout was a mess. How was Scout supposed to get a Dispenser shell in this condition? NotTim certainly couldn't do it, his own condition wasn't much better. Spy wasn't sure what Pyro put in those Sugar Stars, but he was _pretty sure_ there was a 'secret ingredient' somewhere in there.

Scout's face scrunched up then, and he flopped his head over the edge of his bed so that he looked at Spy upside-down with his feet on the wall.

"So-o-o... whacha comin' t'me for, brotha? I don' go makin none'a dose... dip-sensa's... dis-pensase's... dip-shitsas— look, jus', like, go get some outta hard-haty's, ah... hard-haty's... fuck, what was... dat, dat Clang-Clangy room'a his, yeah? He throws shit away a-a-alla time... he won't see no'ne, yeah?"

Spy bit his lip and shook his head frantically, which he instantly regretted because he was suddenly _dizzy;_ he had to grab onto the wall for dear life, just to keep from falling over.

Scout giggled like a little kid. "Y'almost fell, man. Heheheeee..."

NotTim squeezed his eyes shut. Were Christmas gifts always this stressing? He knew what Scout was talking about; Engineer's workroom, or specifically, the trash heap in the corner of Engineer's workroom. Unsalvageable metal scraps, old projects long since forgotten and forsaken, and the occasional unfinished building, all occupied this pile. Engineer had said to him on November 16th of that year, that he delivered all the metal to Heavy when the man needed more bullets. Heavy would get Pyro's help in melting it all down; a ritual NotTim had witnessed and found highly disturbing once Pyro began running his hands over the furnace as if it were a lover. He'd never seen Pyro in quite the same light after that.

Despite Heavy's use for the metal, Engineer had said that he wasn't hoarding it specifically for Heavy. Engie had said that if a few pieces disappeared now and again, than no one would notice. Engie and Heavy wouldn't know the difference. Still though, Spy couldn't take the metal. No, he could, but he _couldn't_ because Engie was _saving_ that metal for Heavy. If he took one dispenser shell, that was at least a dozen or so bullets that Heavy _wouldn't_ have in the heat of battle when he needed them the most. Taking a dispenser shell was stealing ammunition from Heavy, and that was putting the entire team at a disadvantage, and _that_ was not accep—

"Oh, th' wat'r wus _RE-E-E-e-e-ed,_" Scout suddenly wailed, ripping NotTim out of his worry-session. Spy squeaked and cringed, badly startled.

"Whaaa-aaa-aaaat...!" Scout whined. "You tryn'a dump frickin'... Johnny Cymbal, man, forget you! Hey, you listenin' t'me? Hey, where ya– _he-e-ey!_ Spook, man, where ya goin'!"

NotTim stumbled as far from Scout's room as he could manage. Scout was a very good friend, but there was no way he could help. He had no choice. If Spy wanted an old Dispenser Shell, he would have to take it himself.

Which he would seriously think about doing. After a nice, long nap. All he had to do was get to Engineer's room without making too much noise and pray that Engineer wasn't already in there. Spy didn't want Engie to hear him come in or see the recipes.


End file.
